


L.A. Fire Episode 1: New Blood

by Firebuff51 (DCMUFics)



Series: L.A. Fire [1]
Category: Chicago Fire
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, California, Drama, Fire, Firefighters, Gen, Los Angeles, OC cast, Procedural, Rescue, Spin-Off, it's actually about firefighting, paramedics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-15 21:22:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18081137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DCMUFics/pseuds/Firebuff51
Summary: Looking for a fresh start, Captain Matt Casey leaves Chicago to accept a lateral transfer to Los Angeles and Fire Station 31. He learns quickly that he'll have to earn the respect of his new crew, who aren't exactly thrilled to be working under an outsider. Despite the change in scenery, Casey and his new colleagues will still face the same dangerous rescues and emergency responses as his old family at Firehouse 51, as well as a few new ones.





	L.A. Fire Episode 1: New Blood

**L.A. FIRE  
Season 1/Episode 1**

“ **New Blood”**

 

“Hey! Molly's! Tonight! Everybody be there!” Christopher Herrmann called as he stood in the locker room of Chicago's Firehouse 51.  
  
“Done,” Mouch replied as he sat on a bench lacing up his boot. “Any particular reason?”  
  
Stella Kidd rounded the corner in a red sweatshirt, gym bag slung over one shoulder.

 

“Yeah, did I miss something? I was finally gonna binge _Breaking Bad_ tonight.”  
  
Otis closed his locker.

 

“How have you still not seen that show? Everybody's seen _Breaking Bad_.”  
  


Mouch stood and slipped on his jacket.

  
“I haven't seen it.”

 

Otis turned to face him.  
  


“Seriously?”

 

“Just be there,” Herrmann droned in annoyance.

 

Kelly Severide appeared in the doorway behind him.

 

“Everyone at Molly's. Tonight. Seven o'clock.” He glanced down the hall at Chief Boden's office. “No exceptions.”

 

Matt Casey sat across from Chief Boden's desk wearing a tan leather jacket and blue jeans.

 

“Are you sure this is what you want?” Boden asked, hands folded on his desk.

 

Casey exhaled and nodded.

 

“I'm sure, Chief.”

  
Boden slipped off his reading glasses.  
  


“Look, Matt...I can't even begin to understand what you've gone through recently...”

 

The captain shook his head.

 

“Between the whole adoption situation with Louie and his dad and then all of the stuff that led up to Gabby and I breaking up, it's been a rough couple of years and then...almost dying when my place gets torched...”

 

Boden stepped from behind his desk and sat down in the chair beside him.

 

“You're gonna get past all this, Matt. I know it hurts like hell right now, but-”

 

Casey waved him off.

 

“I've been thinking about this for a while, Chief. Even before my marriage ended. There's just too many bad memories for me here. I just feel like it's time for me to try a different direction. I mean, Gabby stayed in Puerto Rico because it felt right to her, she felt like it was what she was meant to do and honestly, I get it. Right now...I just feel like this is the path that I need to be on.”

 

Boden sighed as he stared him down.

 

“Then take a leave of absence. Clear your head. Hell, you've got a ton of vacation time stacked up.”

 

“No amount of time off is gonna fix this, Chief. I just...I need a change.”

 

“Your mind's made up, then?”

 

“It is. Yeah.”

 

Boden stood and bit his lower lip. He offered his hand to Casey who also stood and reciprocated.

 

“It has been a privilege to serve with you, Captain Casey. You're not just an outstanding firefighter, you're one of the finest men I've ever known.”

 

Casey heaved a deep sigh and blinked back tears.

 

“Same here, Chief. Thank you. For everything.”

 

Boden cleared his throat and slapped Casey's shoulder.

  
“First round's on me tonight.”  
  


Casey smiled.

  
“You got it.”  
  
Boden sighed again, hands on hips and smiled wistfully.  
  


“Los Angeles is gettin' one hell of a firefighter.”

 

XXXXXX  
  


_ **Los Angeles. Three months later.** _

 

Engine 31 screamed along a mostly deserted boulevard. There were hardly any cars out this early in the morning. The pumper's rapidly pulsing red LED lights reflected off of darkened store fronts and businesses as it roared passed.  
  


Captain Fred Brady studied the screen of the small computer above the engine's radio.

 

“Light smoke showing. We did a pre-fire last month on the same street as this place,” he said into the mic on his headset as the engine turned a corner. “If I remember, it's a two story apartment house about mid block. Nearest hydrant's about 20 feet away at the southeast corner.”

 

“That's all from memory, Cap?” Ben Harper called from the jump seat behind him, slipping his air bottle's harness over his shoulders. “You're like Rain Man or something.”

 

“Or something!” Oscar Ortiz, the engineer chuckled as he steered the rig.  
  


Mike Song, a muscular Korean-American, sighed beside Harper as he closed his turnout coat.

 

“We're dead tired. It's five in the morning, we're almost back to quarters and we catch a structure run. Just our luck.”

 

“ _Light smoke_ , my ass,” Brady called as he studied the monitor again. “Metro's got multiple calls now.”

 

Seconds later, they rounded the corner onto Sierra Avenue. They were greeted by black smoke billowing into the early morning sky from a second floor window of an apartment house. Frightened residents rushed from the building in their pajamas and bathrobes, bathed in the glow of red flashing lights.

 

Rescue Ambulance 31 had just cleared a medical run and arrived seconds ahead of the engine. Its two firefighter/paramedics, Tim Mendoza and Samantha Bennett, stood on the sidewalk, donning their breathing apparatus.

 

Engine 31 stopped at the corner fire hydrant. Song hopped down and jogged to the back of the pumper. He slipped his arm through several folds of hose and dragged them to the hydrant. The engine pulled forward, leaving the yellow supply line trailing behind from the hose bed before stopping in front of the building.

 

“Metro, Engine 31 on scene, 4521 Sierra,” Brady notified dispatch. “We have a two story apartment building, heavy smoke from the second floor. Engine 31 will be Sierra I.C., initiating fire attack.”

 

Mike stretched a hose line across the yard, flaking it out behind him as he made his way over.  
  


Battalion 19's Suburban pulled into the driveway and the chief waved to Captain Brady as he stepped out, signifying that he was now in command of the scene.  
  


“Harper, Mike! You're with me!” Brady called. “Bennett! Mendoza! You ready?!”  
  
The two firefighter/paramedics each gave a thumbs up as they jogged over.  
  
The engine's crew knelt briefly at the bottom of the staircase and slipped on their masks.

 

“Engineer Ortiz, Engine 31. Charge the line!” Brady called into his radio.

 

“ _Ortiz copy_ ,” replied Ortiz's voice. Seconds later, the hose snaked its way across the lawn as it swelled with water.

 

Mike, gripping the nozzle, made his way up the stairs, with Brady and Harper taking up the hose line behind him. The R.A.'s crew followed closely behind.

 

As they reached the apartment at the top of the stairs, Mike cracked open the nozzle and hit the top of the door with a quick burst of water which created a small cloud of steam.

 

“We've got heat!” Brady called. “Careful!”

 

Tim stepped past them and tried the door. As he suspected, it was locked. He mule-kicked the door twice. It swung inward on the second kick. Instantly, a tidal wave of thick black smoke rolled out of the doorway and enveloped the firefighters. It washed over them and filled the hallway as it banked down to the stairs.

 

Mike crawled into the apartment first, followed by Brady. After the search team ducked inside, Ben took his place in the hallway. He knelt just outside of the door and closed it partially to help control the flow of oxygen to the fire as he helped feed the hose inside.

 

Brady held the viewfinder of the thermal imaging camera to his mask, which allowed him to see through the pitch black smoke.

 

“Hit the ceiling!” he called, patting Mike's shoulder. Mike nodded and sprayed a quick burst of water at the flames that rolled along the ceiling at the end of the hallway.  
  
Brady was concerned by the fact that he couldn't detect any steam returning to them in droplets. The fire was growing increasingly hotter.

 

“Hit it again, Mike!”

 

As Mike sprayed another burst from the nozzle, 31's paramedics crawled down the hallway searching for the reported victim.

 

“Fire department!” Tim shouted through the speaker attached to his face piece. “Hello! Is there anybody in here?”

 

Mike continued spraying water in an effort to help lower the room's temperature while he and his captain pushed farther down the hall.

 

Ben opened the front door to allow the steam to escape, keeping one hand on the hose.

 

“Come on, guys. Come on,” he mumbled inside his mask.

 

Sam could hear the loud pops and crackling of the flames around her. She could feel the heat pushing in from all directions as flaming bits of wood and plaster ricocheted off of her helmet.

  
Tim swept his hand out before him and brushed against a lifeless form.  
  
“I got one!”  
  


“Step it up!” Brady shouted.

 

He peered at the camera's display to see the glowing, ghost-like images of the two paramedics exiting the back bedroom, dragging two bodies with them. He could also see the fire's heat signature growing in intensity above.

 

“It's gonna flash!” he shouted, slapping Mike's helmet. “Back out! Now!”

 

Sam was first out the door, followed by Tim. They stepped past Ben, each firefighter carrying a victim back down the stairs.

 

Mike closed the nozzle and hastily crawled for the door just ahead of his captain.  
  
As soon as they had made it through the doorway, a fireball erupted through the apartment, blowing out the windows and throwing Brady into the hallway where he slammed into a wall.

 

“You all right, Cap?!” Mike shouted through his mask. “Fred?!”

 

Brady shook his head as he pulled himself up to his knees, bracing a hand against the wall.

 

“Get the line on it!”

 

Mike picked up the nozzle and opened it again, driving a forceful stream of water back into the flames as Ben picked up the hose behind him.

 

Marcus Turner, the captain of Truck 31 and the station's ranking officer, climbed the stairs with his crew behind him.

 

“Fred! Get outta here!” he shouted. “Get checked out!”

  
Brady waved him off as he stood, but Turner shoved him forward.

 

“Go! Now!”

 

The disheveled captain nodded in resignation and made his way back down the stairs.

 

XXXXXX

 

Brady sat on the tailboard of Engine 31, orange helmet in hand. His breathing apparatus and turnout coat were piled on the pavement at his feet. His graying auburn hair was soaked with sweat, his face darkened by soot.

 

Turner slipped off his helmet as he approached and pulled off his hood.

 

“What's the word?” asked the tall, African-American captain as he ran a hand over his fade.

 

“I'm fine,” Brady sighed. “The couple they pulled out looked critical. We gave 'em a chance at least.”

 

“You sure you're okay?” Turner pulled off his air bottle and set it down on the sidewalk.

 

Brady nodded.  
  


“I'm done, Marcus. I'm pullin' the pin.”

 

Turner was taken aback.

 

“Since when?”

 

“About ten minutes ago.”

 

“Come on, Fred-”

 

Brady shook his head. He stared at the worn, blackened helmet in his hands. He brushed the ash and soot from the slightly deformed face piece.

 

“Nancy and I, we've been talking about it for a while. I filled out the forms a while back. They've just been sittin' in my top drawer, waiting for me to sign 'em. This here, this seals it.”

 

“Hey, we all have those moments,” Turner leaned against the truck. “I don't have to tell you that. I mean-”

 

“I'm done. That's it,” Brady looked up at his younger colleague, forcing a smile. “I don't want my wife to worry about me anymore. I'm sure about this, Marcus. This just feels right to me.”  
  
Turner tucked his helmet under his arm and offered his hand.

 

“It won't be the same without you, Fred. What are you gonna do with yourself?”

 

Brady shook his hand and winked.

 

“I'm sure I'll think of something.”

  
XXXXXX  
  


__**Two weeks later.  
  
**Marcus strolled into his kitchen to find his wife Christine sitting at the table, picking at a plate of scrambled eggs while his teenage daughter Lucy cradled her infant sister at the far end of the table.

 

He pulled a coffee mug down from the cupboard.

 

“What's going on in here? Something's not right.”

 

“Lucy made breakfast,” Christine said as her husband leaned down to kiss her.

 

“I put cilantro in them too, Daddy,” the fifteen year old beamed. “Just how you like them. And I changed Madison.”

 

He glanced at her over his shoulder as he poured himself a mug of coffee.

 

“What do you want?”

 

“That's what I said,” his wife smirked over her glass of juice.

 

“Why do you have such little faith in me, Christine?” Lucy sighed.

 

Marcus leaned back against the counter as he sipped from his mug.

 

“Lucille, just drop this little charade and tell me what it is that you want.”

 

“Okay. I wanted to know if I could go to the Bruno Mars concert with Kimmy and Marissa next month? Please?”

 

“Did you ask your mother?”

 

“Yes. She said that I had to ask you.”

 

“Is she buying the tickets?”

 

“She said...she'd pay for half.”

 

He smiled ruefully as he nodded.

 

“Half? How much are the tickets?”

 

She paused before saying, “A hundred?”

 

“A hundred bucks? Really?”

 

“A hundred and...sixty, actually. But that's cheap for Staples Center, Daddy,” she pleaded. “They're not even on the floor, they're way in the back! Please?”

 

Marcus folded his arms and stared at his boots.

 

“Pleeeeease, Dad?! I love Bruno Mars soooo so much!”

 

“Look, if it's okay with your dad, I'll buy the ticket and I'll even give you guys a ride,” Christine offered.

 

He shot his wife an amused look and relented.

 

“Okay. It's two against one. I give in.”

 

“Thank you! Thank you!” Lucy squealed. “I have to call the girls!”

 

She placed her baby sister into her cradle before bounding out of the kitchen.

 

Marcus dumped some eggs onto his plate and sat down at the table.

 

“What was that about?”

 

Christine grinned.

 

“I'm trying to be the cool stepmom.”

 

“You're trying to buy her affection.”

 

“That too,” she nodded. “Do you think she'll ever warm up to me? I mean, it's been a year. I get your ex hating me, but-”

 

“Beverly doesn't hate you.”  
  
“You think I don't know that she refers to me as _that white bitch_?”  
  
Marcus rubbed his eyes.

 

“Okay, Bev's terrible, but Lucy doesn't hate you. It's just that, she took the divorce hard. She doesn't like seeing me with anyone who isn't her mom, that's all. It's not you, it's the situation. Trust me.”

 

“Okay,” Christine sighed.

 

He lifted her hand and kissed it.

 

“Who's Bruno Mars again?”

 

“Gawd, you're so old.”  
  


He took a bite of his eggs.

 

“Hey, I already feel like I robbed the cradle marrying you. Don't pile on.”

 

Marcus was forty-five years old. His wife was thirty. The age difference had never mattered much to either of them, but lately, sleepless nights spent caring for a newborn baby and several nagging aches and pains had left him feeling less than spry.

 

“Is he the one with the hat?”

 

“Yes honey,” she kissed his cheek as she stood. “He's the one with the hat.”

 

XXXXXX

 

Casey parked his truck in the backyard of the Los Angeles Fire Department's Station 31. He stepped from the car then pulled a cardboard box and his turnout bag from the backseat. He paused for a second to take in his surroundings.

 

The station itself was a sand colored, two story Spanish style building with an adobe tile roof. It had four drive-through apparatus bays, each with an arched doorway.

 

The engine, ladder truck, and rescue ambulance sat quietly inside the station, facing the street. The fourth bay was left unoccupied, a consequence of past budget cuts that had removed the second engine from 31's, leaving the department with one less task force.

 

A young Afro-Latina woman sporting a ponytail emerged from the red Jeep parked beside Casey's pick up and lifted her own equipment bag.

 

“Mornin', Cap,” she smiled politely. “Gina Castro. I'm coming over from 77's.”

 

Casey smiled to himself as he glanced down at his black captain's uniform. It was the first time that anyone had addressed him by his rank since making the move to Los Angeles.

 

“Hey, Matt Casey. Nice to meet you.”

 

“Where am I riding? Engine or truck?”

 

“Uh, that's a good question. This is my first shift here, too.”

 

“Castro?” Turner called as he strolled out into the backyard.  
  
“Yes, sir. Gina Castro. Transferring from 77's..”

 

“I'm Captain Turner. Welcome to 31's. You're on the truck with me. Go see Firefighter Fitzpatrick over there and he'll get you set up.”

 

Castro thanked him and headed inside as Turner turned his attention to Casey.

 

“Marcus Turner,” he said, shaking Casey's hand. “You're the lateral transfer from Chicago, right? Welcome aboard.”

 

“Matt Casey. Glad to be here.”

 

“Glad to have you. I saw your file. You seem like a hell of a firefighter. I hope riding an engine won't be too much of a change from running a truck company.”  
  


Casey waved him off.

 

“Hey, as long as I'm eatin' smoke, I'm happy.”

 

“Well, alright then, come on in and I'll show you around.”

 

Several of the firefighters stood on the apron in front of the station, watching the two captains' interaction.

 

“So that's the new guy, huh?” Oscar folded his arms. “Looks too pretty to be a fireman.”

 

Bob Sheppard, Truck 31's apparatus operator, a tall, barrel-chested firefighter with a bushy mustache, shook his head.

 

“Doesn't seem right to me. It's bad enough that we lose Brady, one of the best officers I've ever worked with, and instead of replacing him with a captain who's worked his way up through the department, we get some guy from Chicago who sneaks in through the back door.”  
  
“Come on, Shep,” Ben elbowed him. “It's not his fault we're short-staffed. They _had_ to open lateral transfers. Anyway, I hear he's supposed to be pretty good.”

 

“Ah, the optimism of youth,” Sheppard replied. “Don't you ever get tired of always looking on the bright side of things?”  
  


Kevin Booker, a burly African-American firefighter threw an arm around Ben as if he were teasing a little brother.

  
“Don't crush the kid's spirit, Shep. He's got his whole career ahead of him for that.”

 

A black convertible stopped in front of the driveway, drawing their attention.

 

The driver was a young woman with blonde hair. She leaned over to kiss her passenger, a dark-haired man in a navy blue firefighter's uniform.  
  
The man slipped on a department baseball cap as he stepped from the car.

 

“Hi Brittany!” the firefighters called in unison.

 

“Hi, boys!” the blonde waved. “Take care of my man for me!”

 

“We always do!” called Shep.

 

Tim walked up the driveway with a grin as his fiancee` drove off.

 

“Did she talk about me?” asked Oscar. “What did she say about me?”  
  
“Better question,” said Booker. “Did you lock down plans for your bachelor party yet? Are we still doing Vegas?”

 

“Yep,” Tim replied. “Brit's cool with it. She actually thinks it'd be a good thing. I'm marrying a pretty great gal.”  
  
“Seriously, though,” said Oscar. “What did she say about me?”  
  


XXXXXX

 

After a brief tour of the station, the two captains retired to the company commanders' office. Casey pulled a framed picture from a cardboard box and stared at it with a wistful smile. It was a photograph of himself and Kelly Severide. They were smiling, seated on the front bumper of Squad 3, with cigars clenched in their teeth. Firehouse 51 stood in the background.

 

“So, how are you adjusting to life in L.A.?” asked Turner, taking a seat at the desk across from Casey's.

 

“It's...different,” Casey chuckled. “I'm not used to sunshine and 80 degree temperatures this time of year. For another, the traffic's crazy. I mean, I thought Chicago was bad, but I got stuck on 405 comin' into work this morning. I almost didn't get here on time-”

 

Turner laughed as he typed on the keyboard of his computer.

 

“Yeah, don't take the 405. I'll draw up a better route for you. Where you staying?”

 

Casey placed the photograph on his desk.

 

“I'm renting a place in Venice. Sounds dumb, but I kinda always wanted a place near the beach. You guys pay more than Chicago, which means I can definitely afford it, so I figured, _why not_?”

 

“Well, I'm glad to have you. Too many retirements and vacancies meant we finally had to open up to lateral transfers. I personally think we needed a shot of new blood, anyway. It's great to have an officer with your credentials. So why'd you move out here? CFD seems like a really great department.”

 

“Uh...” Casey smiled uncomfortably. “Reasons.”

 

Turner threw up his hands.

 

“Say no more.”

 

Casey gestured towards the textbook on the desk.

 

“Arson Investigation?”

 

Turner nodded and sighed.

 

“Yeah, my wife keeps dropping hints about how nice it'd be if I could find a job in the department that would get me off the street, nine to five, blah blah. You married?”

 

“Uh...no. Not anymore.”

 

“Sorry to hear that. Well, you're still young.”

 

Casey looked up at him as he placed a picture frame on the desk that held his old helmet's face piece.

 

“You're not exactly an old man, yourself. I'd bet we're about the same age.”

 

Turner nodded as he stood.

 

“I'm half-way through my forties, I'm married to a thirty year old and I've just become a dad for the second time. Sometimes I feel older than I really am, I guess. Come on, time to meet the troops.”

 

XXXXXX

 

The nine firefighters and two captains assigned to 31's _B-Shift_ sat at the long wooden table in the station's first floor kitchen, munching on donuts.

 

“First item of business,” said Turner, sitting at the head of the table. “Our new permanent Captain-1 is here. Matthew Casey comes to us all the way from the Windy City, so let's make him feel welcome.”

 

The firefighters applauded politely.

 

“Thanks,” Casey said as he stood. “Honored to be here. Back in Chicago, it seemed that the this department was on the news every other day and we were always impressed by the way you guys did your job. LAFD's always had a top notch reputation and I consider myself lucky to be a part of it.”

 

He was met with nods and courteous smiles. He sat back down and flipped open his binder.

 

“Not sure if you went over this in your orientation training,” said Turner to his fellow captain. “but our stations with paramedic ambulances have at least three medics who rotate each shift between the engine and the R.A.. It helps prevent paramedic burn out. So today, you'll have Song and Harper riding tailboard on the engine with you and Ortiz there is your engineer. Bennett and Mendoza are on the rescue. Okay, second order of business. Kevin, what's on the menu?”  
  
“Pasta salad and turkey sandwiches for lunch,” Booker replied as if he were competing in a _Food Network_ competition. “For dinner, spinach and Parmesan stuffed chicken breasts with roasted butternut squash and collard greens. Strawberry cheesecake for dessert. Unless you're opting out, I'll expect your contributions before we head out to the store. About eight bucks apiece should do it.”

 

“Book's a legitimate chef,” Sheppard explained. “He's a got a white hat and everything.”

 

Booker shook his head.

 

“I minored in culinary arts. It's good enough to feed these animals, anyway.”

 

“Next on the agenda,” Turner continued. “We-”

 

He was interrupted by a three short tones that echoed through the station.

 

“ _Truck 31, respond non-emergency to the lockout_ ,” bellowed the voice of a male dispatcher from the speaker above the door. “ _2234 Bolton avenue. Cross street Ford._ ”

 

The truck's crew pushed back from the table and filed out towards the door.

 

Turner slid his open binder in front of Casey.

 

“Itinerary for today,” he rested a hand on his shoulder. “You got this.”

 

Casey watched the others leave. He glanced down at the binder and then up at the five remaining firefighters.

 

“Right. Okay, so uh...” he skimmed the paper. “1100 hours, it looks like the engine has hydrant inspections on Sep...Sepul...veeda?”  
  
“ _Sepulveda_ , Cap,” offered Oscar. “The white folks here pronounce it _Sep-ull-vid-uh_.”

 

“Right. _Sepulveda_ ,” Casey scribbled down a note. “Thanks...”  
  
“Ortiz. Oscar.”

 

“Thanks, Oscar.”

 

Tim looked at Sam from across the table and rolled his eyes.

 

“Looks like General Services is supposed to be here to fix the toilet in the women's locker room,” Casey continued. “Uh...there'll be a delivery today of smoke detectors around two. It's nice that you guys hand out free smoke detectors to the public, by the way. I like that.”

 

“You're one of us now, Cap,” Ben interjected. “You don't have to say _you guys_ , anymore. You're _us guys_ , now. So...so to speak.”

 

Casey looked up from his binder.

 

“Right... _Harper_. Thanks for the reminder.”

 

The tones sounded again.

 

“ _This is a reported structure fire for Engine 31, Task Force 22, Engine 53, Light Force 30, Rescue 45 on the radio, EMS 19 and Battalion 19, at 3215 Concord, cross street Chestnut, Channel 14 response._ ”

 

Chairs scraped the floor as the engine's crew left the table.

 

“Don't worry, Captain,” Ben said, pushing through the swinging door behind Casey. “You'll get the hang of it.”

 

“Thanks,” Casey sighed, jogging onto the apparatus floor.

  
“Thank God,” Tim yawned as he stood up from the table. “That wasn't awkward _at all_.”

 

Engine 31's siren sounded as it rolled out of the station.

 

Sam shrugged as she began to collect the leftover donuts into one box.

 

“Casey's new. Can't be easy on the guy moving half way across the country to join a new department.”

 

“I guess,” he reached for another buttermilk bar when he noticed his partner staring him down. “What?”

 

“I thought Brittany had you on a diet? Wanted you to look good for the wedding and all of that?”  
  
He dropped the pastry into the pink cardboard box that she was holding and brushed his hands together.

 

“I mean, I am, but you know...the wedding's still a month away and...”

 

“Hey, eat away, pal. I've just never told any man of mine what to eat.”

 

“Okay,” Tim stacked several empty paper plates before him. “This whole _Brit's too controlling_ thing again?”  
  
“Look, I'm just saying this as a friend, she seems to have you on a short leash sometimes.”

 

“Hey, she let's me do plenty of stuff.”

 

Sam arched an eyebrow.

 

“She _let's_ you do stuff?”

 

“I didn't mean it like that...I mean...” he swept the rest of the breakfast trash into a barrel at the end of the table and pulled up the inside liner. “You know what? I'm gonna take the trash out.”

 

Sam sighed as she watched him walk out the door.

 

XXXXXX

 

The members of Truck 31 quickly donned their yellow turnouts and helmets, having quickly assisted a woman who had been locked out of her apartment by her six year old son.

 

“Metro, Truck 31,” Turner called into his radio's extension mic as he pulled on his coat. “We'll take that structure run in our district. We're clear.”

 

“ _Truck 31, I'll attach you to the incident_ ,” the dispatcher replied. “ _Light Force 30, you can discontinue._ ”

 

“Let's roll!” Turner called, pulling himself up into the cab of Truck 31.

 

XXXXXX

 

Engine 31's siren screamed as it raced down Wilshire boulevard. Oscar blasted the air horn at a black Hummer that slowly pulled to the right.

 

“Hope it's not _your_ house that's on fire, _pendejo_!” the stocky Mexican-American grumbled into the mic on his headset, earning laughter from the other firefighters in the rig except for their captain.

 

Casey couldn't help but feel a bit like he did as a candidate on his first day out of the academy, to say nothing of the fact that he hadn't ridden on an engine company in years.

 

As the pumper rounded the next corner, a growing column of black smoke could be seen rising above the palm trees into the blue morning sky.

 

“Looks like we got a worker!” Casey called over his shoulder.

 

“Hell of a way to kick off your first shift huh, Cap?” said Mike from one of the rear jump seats.

 

Casey nodded before glancing over his shoulder at the curly-haired firefighter seated behind him.

 

“You're with me, Harper.”

 

“Got it, Cap.”

 

They turned onto the next street to find a two story house ahead of them with black smoke erupting from the front windows.

 

“Truck 81 to Main-”, Casey called out of habit before catching himself. “Uh,

correction...Metro, Engine 31 on scene, 3215 Concord. We have a two story, single family dwelling, heavy smoke from the front. Engine 31 is initiating fire attack. Have the assignment continue in emergency.”

 

The firefighters hopped down from the rig and went to work. Mike rounded the back of the pumper and stretched a supply line back to the hydrant on the corner.

 

As Casey slung his air pack onto his back, a woman pushed through the crowd of onlookers, screaming frantically.

 

“My sister! My sister's in there!” she shrieked.

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Yes! I was only gone a few minutes!”

 

“Do you know which room she might be in?”

 

“No! I'm not sure...I don't know! I don't know!”

 

The woman tried to push open the front gate, but Casey clamped a heavy gloved hand onto her shoulder.

 

“Stay out here. We're gonna get her.” he waved at Mike. “Song! Drop the line, we're gonna lay in dry! Harper, mask up!”

  
“Are you sure, Cap?” called Mike. “The truck's probably two minutes out.”

 

“That's two minutes she doesn't have!” Casey replied. “We're laying in dry!”

 

Instead of connecting the hose to the fire hydrant and supplying Engine 31 with a steady water source, the hose would be left for the second in engine company to connect and charge. In the mean time, Casey's crew would fight the flames solely using the water carried in Engine 31's tank.

 

Mike shook his head and wrapped the hose around the hydrant.

 

“Okay, boss,” he mumbled.

 

He jogged back to the rig, pulled down a pre-connected hose line and followed the others through the front gate.

 

Casey keyed his mic.  
  
“Metro, Engine 31, we have a report of a person trapped inside. Engine 31 is initiating a primary search.”

 

He finished donning his mask and orange helmet as he stepped onto the front porch. Mike dropped to a knee behind him.

 

“Engine 31 Engineer, Engine 31,” Casey keyed his radio. “Charge the line!”

 

“ _Roger_ ,” Oscar replied. “ _Charging the line!_ ”

 

The flat hose suddenly swelled and straightened as it filled with water.

 

“Ready?” Casey called through his mask.

 

Ben and Mike both gave him a thumbs up. He turned and mule-kicked the front door in. Inky black smoke billowed out at them.  
  
Casey and Ben ducked inside while Mike remained at the doorway, directing a stream of water at the crackling flames inside.  
  
“Fire department! Call out!” Casey shouted through his mask as he and Harper made their way into the burning house.

 

They checked the bottom floor as much as the flames would allow them to before making their way up the stairs to the second floor.

 

“Fire department!” Ben shouted as they reached the hall at the top of the stairs. “Hello!”

 

“There!” Casey pointed to a lifeless form at the end of the hall. “There she is!”

 

As they made their way forward, the floor shifted with an audible crack.

 

“The floor's goin'!” Casey shouted. “Get out!”

 

“Hell no!” Ben called. “I'm not leaving you, Cap!”

 

“That's an order! Go! I'll get her! The floor's goin'! It can't take both our weight!”

 

The matter was settled for them as the floor between the two men began to split. Casey shoved Harper backwards, away from the crevice, then raced towards the victim at the end of the hallway.

 

A wall of flames leapt up through the floor where they had been standing just seconds before.

 

Outside, Truck 31 stopped on the cross street beside the house. Turner hopped down from the cab and slammed his door.

 

“Shep, get the stick up there,” the officer called, hefting his air pack over his shoulders. “Fitz, Booker, hit the roof. Castro, you're with me.”

 

“ _Mayday! Mayday!_ ” Ben's muffled voice echoed in the street, between the rigs' radios. “ _Engine 31, emergency traffic! The second floor's collapsed! I've lost sight of my captain!_ ”

 

“Engine 31, I copy your emergency traffic,” Turner replied. “All units, hold the air. Captain Casey from Truck 31, come in. What's your location?”

 

Casey crouched, with flames licking at his back, and grabbed the victim by her arms. He dragged her into the nearest room and kicked the door closed.

 

He pushed back his helmet as he dropped to his knees, then slipped off his mask and held it over the young woman's face. He returned the helmet to his head and quickly glanced around to gain his bearings.

 

“ _Captain Casey from Truck 31, come in_ ,” his radio crackled. “ _Do you copy?_ ”

 

“Truck 31, this is Casey,” he coughed. “I've got one victim. We're in a second floor bedroom, Alpha side, A/D corner. Gonna need to use the window for egress.”

 

“Fitzpatrick, Booker, throw a 24' to that window,” Turner called, keying the mic on the front of his coat. “Casey, standby, we're laddering that window now.”

 

Sirens filled the air, announcing the arrival of the other companies assigned to the alarm.

 

Ben ducked out of the front door and stripped off his mask and helmet as he crossed the front lawn. He rounded the corner of the house to see Casey passing the victim through the second floor window to Booker on the ground ladder. She was quickly handed off to Rescue 45's paramedics who passed Ben as he approached.

 

“You good, Casey?” asked Turner. “What happened up there?”

 

“Damn floor went,” Casey coughed, stepping off of the ladder. “Just buckled and split.”

 

“Glad you're okay, Cap,” Ben forced a smile.

 

Casey pushed back his Nomex hood and ran a gloved hand over his short cropped hair.

 

“Harper, next time I give you an order, you follow it. We clear?”

 

Ben cleared his throat as he looked down at his boots before meeting his captain's eyes .

 

“Yes sir. Understood.”

 

He turned and headed back to help Mike with the hose line.

 

“What was that about?” asked Turner. “Ben's a damned good fireman, even for a young guy. It's not like him to ignore orders.”

 

“The floor was starting to go,” replied Casey. “I told him to get out. He didn't want to leave. Inch or two one way or the other and the kid could've dropped through the floor.”

 

“Would you have left _your_ captain behind in a fire if he told you to get out? I don't know how you guys did things in Chicago, but I'm pretty sure I know what the answer is.”

 

Casey opened his mouth then stopped as he watched Ben slap Mike's shoulder and pick up the hose behind him.

 

XXXXXX

 

Tim pushed the gurney back into the ambulance until it locked into place. Sam sat in the seat at the head of the riding compartment, going through a checklist.

 

“We're gonna need some more four by fours,” she said.

 

Tim propped a boot on the R.A.'s tailboard.

 

“Those Chicago guys, they've got that rep, you know?”

 

Sam slid open an overhead cabinet and peered inside.

 

“What rep?”

 

“You know, CFD, they're a bunch of hard chargers out there. They're an aggressive department. I bet this Casey guy thinks he knows more than we do. Those east coast guys always think they're better than us.”

 

“First off,” she said opening another compartment. “Chicago is in the mid-west, not the east. Secondly, this is starting to sound like some grade school, _we don't like the new kid just because he's new-_ type stuff.”

 

Tim shrugged.

 

“I don't know, the whole lateral transfer thing doesn't sit right with me. Just seems the spot should've gone to somebody who's worked his way up.”

 

“Good fireman's a good fireman. Doesn't matter where he's from _,_ ” she said, before sighing in annoyance. “Son of a bitch...”

 

He leaned forward.

 

“What is it?”

 

“A-Shift left their damn candy wrappers back here again! Freaking Smitty and his Skittles. They're stuffed in the bench! I swear to-”

 

The dispatch tones sounded.

 

“ _Rescue 31, Engine 117 on the radio, respond to the chest pains_ ,” called the voice of a male dispatcher. “ _857 Harvard Avenue, cross street Palms._ ”

 

Tim closed the back doors and jogged around to the driver's side as Sam exited through the side door and climbed into the shotgun seat. Seconds later, Rescue 31 left the station and pulled into traffic, siren screaming.

 

Minutes later, the Dodge ambulance pulled onto Harvard Avenue and stopped before a crème colored house with a brown roof.

 

A middle-aged woman opened the front door and stepped out onto the porch, staring quizzically at the large red ambulance parked in front of her house.

 

“Did you call the fire department, ma'am?” asked Sam as she opened the side door of the rig and retrieved the defibrillator. She handed it off to her partner before grabbing the drug box and oxygen case.

 

“Me? No,” the woman responded. “I was just watching my show and saw you pull up.”

 

Tim shot his partner a look before keying the mic on his shoulder.

 

“Metro, Rescue 31, can you check the call back on this address? Resident states that they didn't request us.”

 

Engine 117 cut its siren as it rounded the corner and stopped at the curb facing the R.A. with a loud hiss of its air-brakes.

 

“ _Rescue 31, call came from a cell phone_ ,” the dispatcher replied. “ _PR was a male who stated that he was having chest pains and gave the address as 857 Harvard before disconnecting. We've been unable to receive an answer on call back._ ”

 

The captain stepped onto the sidewalk, tablet in hand.

 

“What've we got?”

 

“Might be a false,” said Tim.

 

“Is there a man who lives here, ma'am?” asked Sam, stepping closer.

 

“My husband, Harold,” the woman descended the front steps. “But...he's up on the roof fixing the shingles. I...I haven't heard him for a while...oh no...”

 

Sam nodded at the top rungs of a ground ladder that extended above the roof line on the west side of the house.

 

Tim slipped the Lifepak's strap over his shoulder as he quickly crossed the lawn.

 

“Cap, better get a truck company started.”

 

He climbed up the ladder and scanned the roof, immediately spying the crumpled form of man wearing a maroon shirt and white shorts laying on a flat section that jutted over the backyard. A cell phone rested at his side.

 

“Got him!” Tim called over his shoulder. He made his way onto the roof and knelt beside the man.

 

“Harold?! Can you hear me?” he rubbed his knuckles into the man's sternum, then placed two fingers on the carotid artery in his neck. “No pulse! Starting CPR!”

 

As he began chest compressions, Sam climbed onto the roof, followed by one of 117's men who carried the oxygen case.

 

Sam knelt beside the patient, setting down the drug box.

 

“Stop CPR.”

 

She drew the trauma shears from her belt and sliced the man's shirt open with one quick movement.

 

She then tore open the packets containing the defibrillator's chest pads and tossed aside the wrapping. After connecting the wires, she attached the pads to his chest and checked the heart monitor.

 

“V-Tach. Charging at 120...” an escalating tone sounded from the Lifepak. “Clear!”

 

Tim lifted his hands. The patient's body jumped as it was jolted with 120 joules of electricity.

 

Sam studied the dancing line on the heart monitor.

 

“No change.”

 

“Continuing CPR,” Fitz replied. “One-two-three-four-five. One-two...”

 

The patient's wife stood beside the engine's captain, her hands clutched before her, staring at the roof with trepidation.

 

“I...I don't understand,” her voice cracked. “What are they doing to him up there? What's wrong with my husband?”

 

“We're doing everything we can for him,” the captain replied. “I know those two paramedics and they're very good at what they do.”

 

Sam drew one milligram of epinephrine into a syringe, then injected it into a vein in the man's left arm.

 

“Epi's in,” she said, staring back at the monitor. “Still in V-Tach.”

 

She turned up the output.

 

“Stop CPR. Charging at 200...clear!”

 

Again, the patient's body jumped as electricity coursed through it. Sam gave a thumb's up as she studied the screen.

 

“Sinus rhythm.”

 

Tim pulled over the oxygen case and unsnapped the latches.

 

“Hey, Cap! Got an ETA on that truck company?!” he called.

 

“It's our light force from quarters,” the captain replied. “Should probably be a couple more minutes.”

 

Tim waved in acknowledgment as he slipped the oxygen mask over the patient's face.

 

“Come on, Harold. Just need you to hang in there a little bit longer.”

 

XXXXXX

 

The pumper and ladder truck had returned to quarters and the members were busy cleaning their rigs and equipment as Rescue 31 rolled into the station from the backyard.

 

Tim pulled the rig even with Engine 31 and shut off the engine.

 

Ryan Fitzpatrick, _Fitz_ , to anyone who knew him, Truck 31's red-haired tillerman, nodded to the paramedics as they stepped from the ambulance.

 

“Did you guys really have a patient on the roof?” he asked, carrying a bucket of water.

 

“Yup.” Tim closed his door. “Had an M.I. while he was fixing the shingles.”

 

Sheppard stepped over as he swept the floor with a push broom.

 

“Is he gonna make it?”

 

“Not sure, Shep,” Sam called over her shoulder, strolling to the soda machine at the far end of the apparatus floor. “We gave him a chance, anyway.”

 

“Hey, you guys know anything about the new kid, Castro?” asked Fitz.

 

Tim leaned back against the ambulance.

 

“No. Why?”

 

“I don't know, man. Somethin' about her. She seems kinda closed off. A little cold.”

 

“Well, get used to it, boys,” Sheppard leaned against the broom handle. “You ever work in a station before that has two women?”

 

“No,” replied Fitz. “Have you?”

 

“Well...no. But I can tell you what'll happen,” Sheppard lowered his voice. “They work together long enough, their cycles will sync up and then we're gonna be stuck walkin' on egg shells a few days a month. Gonna be hell. Mark my words.”

 

“You're a moron, Shep,” Sam laughed as she headed up the stairs to the second floor.

 

She made her way down the hallway between the individual college-like dorm rooms that each held two beds and peered into one of the rooms at the end of the corridor.

 

Castro was busy stretching a dark blue bed cover across her bunk.

 

“You're Castro, right?” Sam smiled as she stepped inside and extended a hand. “Sam Bennett. We didn't get a proper introduction since you guys got toned out so early.”

 

“Gina Castro.” the younger firefighter shook her hand before snatching a pillow from the desk.

 

Sam sipped her soda and jerked a thumb towards the other bed in the room.

 

“So, looks like we're roomies. It'll be kind of nice not to be isolated on my own back here anymore.”

 

“Cool,” Castro replied, her back turned as she dropped the pillow into its case.

 

“Where ya comin' from?”

 

“Sun Valley. 77's.”

 

“Great station. I did my precepting up there when I was a paramedic intern. Captain Willis still there?”

 

“Yeah,” Castro forced a smile as she tucked in her uniform shirt. “I'd like to talk, but I've gotta mop the kitchen. Just off probation, but I've still gotta do all the boot stuff, ya know?”

 

“Oh yeah. Sure.”

 

She stepped past Sam and headed down the hall at a brisk pace. As Sam watched her leave, Fitz skipped up the stairs behind his partner.

 

“So, whattaya think?” he whispered.

 

Sam shook her head.

 

“The guys are right. Something's off about her.”

 

Out in the station's backyard, the members of Engine 31 were rolling hose.

 

Mike stooped and picked up a roll, which he placed on a rack inside the open apparatus door.

 

“Casey actually chewed you out?”

 

Ben shrugged as he dropped a flat hose line on the pavement.

 

“Yeah. I guess I see his point, though.”

 

“Seriously?” Oscar replied, throwing a bundle of hose over his shoulder. “Any one of us would've done the same. You don't leave a man behind.”

 

Mike rested his hands on his hips.

 

“He had us hit that fire without a supply line, too. We could've drained our tank before the next engine got there. He snaps your head off for doing the right thing. I mean, who does this Casey guy think he is?”

 

Casey had been headed towards the backyard, making his way between Engine 31 and the ladder truck, when he heard his name mentioned. He paused and stayed out of sight, but close enough to listen in on the conversation.

 

Ben crouched and began to roll the hose before him.

 

“If I had hung around much longer, there might have been two of us trapped in there. And there _was_ a victim inside. I get why he didn't want us to waste time taking the hydrant.”

 

“Even so.” Oscar shrugged. “I'm still not sure how I feel about answering to this dude instead of a guy who's actually earned his spot here.”

 

Casey leaned back against a compartment door on the truck and gazed up at the ceiling. He'd expected it might not be that easy for his new crew to accept an outsider. Still, hearing them vocalize it was a bit hard to take.

 

Booker clapped his hands together as he walked outside.

 

“Change of subject, fellas. Nature Scout cookies. How many can I put you down for?”

 

“Oh, _Madre de Dios!_ ” Oscar laughed. “I'm on a diet, man.”  
  
“Look, I need to assuage some of this working parent guilt by making sure Rosie's a top earner. Help a brother out.”

 

“ _Assuage?_ ”, Ben laughed.

  
“She got me a word a day calendar for Christmas. So come on, how many boxes can I put you down for?”

 

“Two. Those caramel dreams.”

 

“Good man, Benjamin! Come on now, Oscar.”

 

“I told you, bro. _Diet_ ,” Oscar protested. “My doctor's gonna put me on those pills if I don't get my cholesterol down and you know how I am about swallowing pills.”

 

“Okay, I get you,” Booker pulled off his gloves. “I just hope my beautiful little angel doesn't ask me why Uncle Oscar didn't buy any of her cookies.”

 

Oscar stared him down before pulling out his wallet.

 

“I want a box of those peanut butter deals and two Choco-Mints for my lady.”

 

Booker made a cross gesture as if he were the Pope conferring a blessing upon him.

 

“Bless you, Engineer Ortiz, bless you.”

 

“Box of coconut puffs,” Mike smirked, pulling out his wallet.

 

Casey strolled out from between the rigs into the backyard.

 

“Cookies? I'm in,” he smiled.

 

“Oh, uh...hey,” Booker waved him off. “That's nice of you Cap, but you don't have to...”

 

Casey held up a folded twenty.

 

“Nah, I insist. I'll take four of those coconut things.”

 

“Okay, thanks,” Booker added the bill to the others in his hand. “I'll let you know when they come in.”

 

Casey nodded.

 

“Thanks. Listen, guys...”

 

The tones sounded.

 

“ _Engine 31, Truck 31, Light Force 22, Rescue 31, EMS 19, Battalion 19, vehicle into a structure, 17132 Victory Boulevard, cross street Mason, Channel 12 assignment.”_

 

The firefighters jogged back inside.

 

“Oh man,” Oscar said quietly. “You think he heard us?”

 

Station boots were kicked off and yellow turnouts donned. Engines growled to life as the firefighters pulled themselves up onto the rigs. Seconds later, Truck 31's tractor-drawn aerial pulled out into the sunlight with red LED lights pulsing. The long truck turned left into traffic with Q-siren screaming and air horns blaring. Engine 31 rolled out next, followed by the ambulance.  
  


Fitz steered the rear wheels of Truck 31 from his perch in the tiller cab.

 

“Place your bets, kids,” he said into the mic on his headset. “Vehicle into a structure. What are we thinking? Old person accidentally hit the pedal? Drunk driver?”

 

Booker pulled on his gloves in the riding compartment at the front of the truck.

 

“I'm gonna say...driving lesson gone wrong.”

 

“Thinking outside the box,” Fitz replied, turning the wheel before him. “I like it.”

 

“I'm goin' with senior citizen,” Shep called over his shoulder as he steered the rest of the rig. “Whattaya say, Castro?”

 

Castro shrugged, looking down while closing her coat.

 

“Can't go wrong with drunk driver.”  
  


“Really?” Turner asked, glancing at Shep beside him, before looking back at  
Booker. “Do you all really think this is appropriate?”

 

“Sorry, Cap,” the crew replied as one.

 

Turner returned his attention to the traffic ahead and stomped once on the air horn pedal.

 

“Drunk's probably a good guess, though.”  
  
Two minutes later, the rigs pulled into the parking lot of a strip mall. The front door and picture window of a _taqueria_ were smashed in, the sidewalk and pavement littered with broken glass, bits of plaster, and concrete. A small white compact car had driven completely inside the building.

 

“This old lady...she just ran her car into my business!” a Latino man wearing a white apron said as Captain Turner hopped down from Truck 31. “I just had that window painted!”

 

“Where's the driver?” asked Turner.

 

“She got out of the car and tried to walk away. My busboy got her to sit down on that bench over there.”

 

“Is there anyone else inside?” asked Casey as he approached, slipping on his helmet.

 

The man ran a hand over his bald head as he stared back at the building.

 

“No, I...I think everybody got out. I don't think we had any customers. I went next door to get a magazine, ya know, and then...bam! I can't believe this!”

 

Turner motioned towards the gray-haired woman sitting on a wooden bench nearby.

 

“Bennett, Mendoza, check her out. Book, Castro, go ahead and clear the building.”

 

“Let's pull a line, just to be safe,” Casey called to the engine's crew.

 

“Metro, Truck 31,” Turner called into the mic on his coat. “We've got a single vehicle into a business, Station 31 investigating.”

 

Booker and Castro stepped through the car-sized hole in the front of the restaurant, glass and debris crunching under their boots.

 

The car had come to a stop with the front tires several inches off of the floor, resting against a small standalone freezer which was tilted back against the counter that divided the dining area and kitchen.

 

“Fire department!” Booker called. “Anybody else in here?”

 

“Yes!” a woman cried. “Help me! Please!”

 

Booker and Castro looked at each other and then at the car. Castro dropped to the floor and laid flat on her stomach so that she could peer under the vehicle.

 

A young Asian woman stared back at her, chin scraped and blood trickling from her forehead.

 

“Please get me out of here,” she cried.

 

“Cap!” barked Booker. “We've got somebody under the car!”

 

Castro slipped off her helmet and inched forward under the car. She locked eyes with the young woman who was laying on her stomach.

 

“Hey, what's your name?”

 

“Cassie.”

 

“Cassie, my name's Gina. We're gonna get you out of here, okay?”

 

“Alright...”

 

“Do you hurt anywhere?”

 

“My...my right leg hurts...I think it might be broken...and it's...it's a little hard to breathe...”

 

Castro clicked her flashlight on and shined it ahead of her. She swept the beam over a large chunk of concrete that rested on the woman's back and most likely bore some of the car's weight.

 

“Castro, what's it look like?” Turner asked, crouching beside his firefighter.

 

“She's wedged in here pretty tight under a chunk of concrete. She thinks her right leg might be broken.”

 

“Whattaya think?” Casey asked, stepping inside.

 

Turner exhaled and stared at the car as he stood.

 

“Struts under the front fenders to stabilize. Chock the wheels and get some cribbing under it.”

 

“On it,” Casey replied as he headed back outside.

 

“Metro, Truck 31,” Turner called into his radio. “We've got a confirmed person trapped under a vehicle, have the assignment continue in emergency.”

 

The car creaked as the freezer that it was propped against slipped slightly.

 

Cassie screamed.

 

“I'm gonna die in here!”

 

“No!” said Castro urgently, taking her hand. “Hey, listen to me. We're gonna get you out of here. Just focus on me, okay?”

 

“Oh...okay...”

 

Outside, a woman in her sixties sat on a bench several feet from the small restaurant's front entrance. She stared up at Sam who shined a pen light in her eyes.

 

“I...I hit somethin', did...didn't I?” the woman slurred.

 

“Yes ma'am, you did,” Sam replied.

 

Tim covered his nose with the back of his gloved hand and winced at the odor emanating from the woman's mouth.

 

“How much have you had to drink today, ma'am?”

 

She looked up at him and shrugged.

 

“Hell if I know. A couple beersss...maybe more.”

 

“Do you hurt anywhere?” asked Sam.

 

The woman shook her head as she draped her arms across the back of the bench.

 

“Naw, I'm fine. Listen...does...does the taco place open yet? I...I really need some...some fish tacos and...an...an...horse...horse...sshatt...”

 

“An _horchata,”_ said Tim, conjuring the same Mexican accent he had shed in his youth.

 

The woman pointed at him and winked.

 

“That one. Ssseriously. You...you people...I love your food...”

 

A tall LAPD officer approached, followed by his younger partner.

 

“Bennett, Mendoza,” the officer nodded. “What've we got?”

 

“E.T.O.H.,” Sam sighed, tucking the pen light into her shirt pocket.

 

“Yeah, I figured,” the cop grimaced.

 

“E.T.O.H.?” asked the younger officer.

 

“She's drunk,” Tim explained, stripping off his blue exam gloves. “She's all yours, Jones. We've got an actual patient inside; the lady she ran over.”

 

The rest of the firefighters began the work of preparing the car in order to safely remove the patient. Additional manpower arrived in the form of the engine and truck that comprised Light Force 22, followed shortly by Battalion 19 and the EMS captain.

 

Cribbing, wooden blocks of varying length, were stacked under the back end of the car to stabilize it. Meanwhile, Shep and Booker each carried in a rescue strut, essentially long metal jacks used for stabilizing vehicles as well as shoring up structures and trenches.

 

Each strut would be placed under either side of the car's front fenders. Once the car was secured in place, the jacks would lift it enough to remove the patient.

 

“What's...what's happening?” asked Cassie, alarmed by the noises around her.

 

“Just getting ready to get you out of here,” said Castro. “Where are you from, Cassie?”  
  
“The Valley. Reseda. I...I had a job interview down the street...I...I stopped here to get lunch afterward.”

 

“Oh yeah? What's the job?”

 

“Paralegal.”

 

“How do you think it went?”

 

“I...I think I nailed it...thought I'd buy myself some _carne asada_ to celebrate. I took one bite and then...this car hit me...”

 

She began to sob again.

 

Castro squeezed her hand.

 

“Hey, so how was it?”

 

“Wh...what?”

 

“The _carne asada_. How was it?”

 

“Oh,” she laughed. “It was just okay...too much cilantro.”

 

“Good to go.” Booker gave a thumbs up as he knelt on the right side of the car while Shep knelt on the left.

 

“Okay, let's do it,” said Sheppard. “Same time, nice and easy.”

 

The two firefighters pumped the jack handle on each strut simultaneously. The car began to slowly lift with a creek.

 

“Keep goin'!” Castro called from below the vehicle.

 

The firefighter's continued to extend the struts until Castro shouted for them to stop.

 

She inched forward on her elbows and pulled the large chunk of concrete from the patient's back.

 

“How's that?”

 

“Better...better...” Cassie sighed.

 

“C-Collar,” Castro said over her shoulder. “I'm gonna slip a collar around your neck, Cassie, just as a precaution, okay?”

 

Sam handed her the cervical collar, which she gingerly slipped around Cassie's neck and fastened into place, which would immobilize her neck and hopefully prevent any further neck or spinal damage which may have already occurred.

 

“Okay, now, we're gonna pull you out from under this car, ready?”

 

“Yes,” replied Cassie. “Just...hurry. Please.”

 

“We're ready, guys,” Castro called. “Slowly, now.”

 

She placed her hands on either side of Cassie's head to hold it in place as Song and Harper dropped to their knees. The men each slipped their hands under Cassie's arms and the three firefighters slowly slid their patient out from underneath the car.

 

“Watch her right leg,” Castro cautioned.

 

Mendoza placed a hard plastic backboard on the floor beside Cassie.

 

“Cassie, we're gonna roll you onto this backboard,” Castro informed the young woman. “I need you to keep your arms down at your side, palms against your legs. Got it?”

 

“Yes. I understand.”

 

“On your count,” Song nodded to Castro.

 

“Okay,” Castro exhaled. “One...two...three.”

 

With assistance from Mendoza, they rolled Cassie onto the backboard and strapped her down.

 

Sam and Mendoza lifted Cassie onto a gurney and then lifted it up into a waist-high locked position.

 

Finally freed from her sudden prison, Cassie cried in relief. With her head immobilized, she could only stare straight up at the ceiling.

 

“Thank you, Gina. Thank you so much,” she sobbed.

 

Castro's smiling face appeared over her.

 

“Just glad I could help,” she squeezed Cassie's hand one last time. “These guys are gonna take good care of you now.”

 

As the paramedics began to assess their patient, Castro snatched her helmet from the floor and brushed the bits of dust and debris from her turnout coat.

 

Booker slapped her shoulder as he passed.

 

“Good job, kid.”

 

“Oh, uh, thanks.”

 

“He's right,” Captain Turner said. “You relied on your training, you kept the patient calm. Nice work, Castro.”

 

She caught his gaze and responded with a quick smile.

 

“Thanks, Cap.”

 

“Is that a smile?” asked Shep. “I knew you had one in ya.”

 

Her smile faded. She slipped her helmet back on and made her way outside.

 

“Really, Shep?” Turner faced him.

 

“What?” Shep shrugged. “I was...I mean, it was a joke...”

 

Turner gave him a look. Sheppard held up his hands as he walked past him.  
  
  


XXXXXX

 

2112 hrs.

 

It had been an eventful afternoon and evening for Station 31, with responses including a flooded building, two traffic collisions, fire alarm activation and a kitchen fire, not to mention Rescue 31's numerous medical responses.

 

Due to the flurry of activity, dinner had been pushed back and the weary firefighters devoured it in record time, which explained the deserted dinner table that greeted the paramedics as they returned from their latest run.

 

“Kevin, please tell me that you saved us a plate,” Tim called as he and Sam entered the kitchen.

 

“Did you want some, too?” asked Shep, removing empty plates and bowls from the table.

 

“I'll drop you right now, old man!” Sam pointed at him.

 

“In the oven,” Booker chuckled, wiping down the table.

 

Casey placed a stack of dishes in the large, stainless steel sink.

 

“That was amazing,” he said. “I can't remember the last meal I had like that.”

 

“Thanks, Cap,” Booker smiled over his shoulder. “I'll put dessert out in a bit.”

 

“Can't wait.” Casey peered through the doorway at the day room. Several of the firefighters, including his crew, were relaxing in the recliners, arranged in a semi-circle around the flat screen TV.

 

“Did anybody set the DVR?” called Fitz, scanning the on screen guide with the remote. “I need to find out what happened on _First Responders_ tonight.”

 

“How can you watch that stupid show?” asked Mike. “It's so unrealistic. It's supposed to be about L.A. firefighters, but they're wearing black turnouts like it's New York or something. They can't even get that right.”

 

“Look, I'm mainly hate-watching it at this point.” Fitz swiveled in his chair. “Anyway, the chick that plays the dispatcher is kinda hot.”

 

“Engine, meet me out back,” called Casey, before heading back through the kitchen.

 

“Geez, what now?” Mike sighed as he stood.

 

“I told you he heard us!” Oscar hissed.

 

Sam and Tim, eating at the table, watched as Harper, Song, and Ortiz passed through the kitchen.

 

“Somebody's goin' to the principal's office,” Sam sang, her mouth full.

 

Mike flipped her off as he left.

 

“I love you too, Mikey!” she called after him.

 

Tim smiled down at his phone as he ate.

 

“Let me guess, Brittney texting you a happy little love note?” asked Sam, picking at her food.

 

He placed his phone face down on the table.

 

“She just texted to say she loved me, no biggie.”

 

“Gag.”

 

“Hey, don't hate on me because you're perpetually single.”

 

“Low blow, Mendoza. Is this the kinda stuff I'm gonna have to look forward to after you two get married?”

 

Tim chuckled.

 

“Probably.”

 

The engine's firefighters walked through an open apparatus door into the backyard to find their captain leaning against the hood of his truck, arms folded and smoking a cigar in the moonlight.

 

“Hey, what's uh...what's up, Cap?” asked Ben apprehensively as he tucked his hands into his pants pockets.

 

Casey pulled three cigars from his pocket and offered them to his men.

 

“This feels like a trap,” said Oscar.

 

“It's fine,” Casey smirked.

 

Each man took a cigar which Casey lit for them.

 

“Back in Chicago,” he said. “I had a buddy who was the rescue squad lieutenant at our house. We were...we _are_ tight. Sometimes, though, we'd butt heads over the job.”

 

He focused on the lit butt in his hand.

 

“Whenever we had a problem, we'd go outside, or up to the roof, have a cigar, and hash things out.”

 

Mike puffed his cigar.

 

“Is that what we're doing here?”

 

Casey nodded.

 

“Let me hear it. I know you've got some kind of beef with me. Let's clear the air.”

 

The others exchanged uncomfortable glances.

 

“Come on, come on. No judgment. Say what you've got to.”

 

Mike slipped his hands into his pockets.

 

“Alright. I don't know if laying in dry this morning was entirely the right call. What if the fire took off and we drained the tank?”

 

Casey cleared his throat.

 

“If we didn't know for sure that someone was inside, I would've had you take the hydrant. Things change when you know there's someone trapped. I stand by my decision. If you have a problem with any of my orders, I'll be happy to discuss it with you, and I mean that sincerely, I'm always open to input from my crew...but after the incident, not during.”

 

Mike exhaled a cloud of smoke.

 

“Fair enough.”

 

“Let me ask you a question,” Casey clenched the cigar in his teeth as he folded his arms. “If your old captain had made the same calls that I did this morning, would you have had the same questions?”

 

“Probably not,” Oscar replied.

 

“Because you trusted him, right?”

 

The firefighters exchanged glances.

 

“Guys, I get it,” Casey tossed the lit butt to the ground and crushed it under his boot. “You don't know me. I'm an outsider. I didn't start at the bottom in this department and work my way up. I don't blame you for how you feel, but at the end of the day, whether we're from L.A. or Chicago or Shanghai, we're all part of the brotherhood. The job's still the same. I was an effective leader in Chicago and I'll be one here.”

 

“Can't be easy for you, Cap,” said Ben, “Moving half-way across the country and joining a new department.”

 

“Man, you really are a little ray of sunshine aren't you?”, Casey pointed at him, drawing chuckles from Oscar and Mike.

 

“You have no idea,” Mike laughed.

 

Casey leaned back against his truck.

 

“Harper, what happened inside this morning, I don't blame you for not wanting to leave me alone in there. From what Captain Turner tells me, you're a great firefighter, with great instincts. I probably shouldn't have chewed you out so hard, but things were going south fast and...”

 

Ben held up his hands.

 

“I know. You were right, Cap. I should've bugged out, the floor was going,” he shrugged. “The guys here know a bit about how I grew up. I bounced between foster homes when I was a kid. The fire department's the only family that I've ever really known, so you know...I'm protective of my family, even the new members.”

 

Casey nodded and waved him off.

 

“Nothing more needs to be said. We were real big on family at my old house. Are we good, gentlemen?”  
  
Mike looked at the others and then eyed Casey.

 

“I'm good.” he extended a hand.

 

Casey shook hands with him.

 

“Me too,” said Oscar, shaking hands with his captain.

 

“So am I,” Ben smiled as he followed suit.

 

Back inside, Booker opened the left door of Truck 31's riding compartment and was briefly startled by Castro, who bolted upright in the far jump seat, a bit startled herself.

 

“Oh, sorry! I...I didn't know you were in here,” Booker stammered.

 

“Yeah, sorry,” Castro said, holding up a paperback. “I was just looking for a quiet place to read...”

 

“No problem. I was just grabbing my sweatshirt.” he pulled the dark blue shirt from the seat in front of him. “I'm gonna put out the cheesecake in a few minutes.”

 

“Oh...uh...okay...thanks. I'll head over in a minute.”

 

“Sure,” Booker replied. “These guys are savages, so don't take too long or you might miss out.”

 

She smiled politely.

 

“Gotcha.”

 

He started to close the door, but stopped. Why the hell did she keep separating herself from everyone?

 

“Look, it's none of my business, but...”

 

The dispatch tones sang from the speakers.

 

“ _This is a reported chemical spill for Engine 31, Truck 31, Task Force 117, Squad 32, Air/Light 32, Rescue 31, Rescue 822, EMS 19, and Battalion 19..._ ”

 

“Never mind,” Booker sighed, pulling his turnouts down from the cab.

 

The kitchen's wooden doors swung open as the rest of the firefighters scattered onto the apparatus floor.

 

A minute later, the rigs screamed off into the night as the apparatus doors slowly closed behind them, leaving the station silent.

 

XXXXXX

 

The morning sun's golden rays stretched out across the Los Angeles basin, welcoming those just beginning their day as Station 31's B-shift ended theirs.

 

“Isn't this where we came in?” Casey laughed walking towards his truck alongside Castro, although this time, they were both in street clothes.

 

“I guess so,” she yawned. “What do you think of 31's, Cap?”

 

He stopped and looked back at the two-story fire station.

 

“Not a bad bunch of guys. Think I might like it here. How about you?”

 

She shrugged and slipped on her shades.

 

“We'll see,” she smiled.

 

“Cap!” Ortiz called, jogging through one of the apparatus doors, followed by Mike, Harper and Shep. “Wait up!”

 

Sheppard slipped on a blue LAFD baseball cap.

 

“Look, it's a tradition here at 31's, that we buy the new guys breakfast next door at Wally's. You and Castro, you're the new guys. So, whattaya say?”

 

“Yeah, I'm in,” Casey nodded. “Thanks, guys.”

 

“Castro, you comin'?” asked Harper. “They make killer pancakes.”

 

“Rain check?” Castro walked backwards toward her Jeep. “But thank you, guys. Really.”

 

“Looks like it's just us, then,” Ortiz clapped his hands together. “Come on, Captain. Let's get our grub on.”

 

Mendoza descended the stairs behind Sam.

 

“Hey, Sam, can I catch a ride?” he asked, following her onto the apparatus floor. “Brittany gave me a ride in yesterday.”

 

“I guess,” she sighed playfully. “You wanna hit Starbuck's first?”

 

“Oh no, thanks. I wanna head over to Brit's place and make her breakfast.”

 

She chirped her car alarm with the remote as they walked into the backyard.

 

“You know, you don't have to try so hard, Timmy. She already said she'd marry you.”

 

“I know,” he chuckled. “I just wanna make sure that she sticks around.”

 

XXXXXX

 

Marcus crept down the hall. He paused to peek through his daughter's open bedroom door. Lucy slept peacefully in some impossible position, splayed across the bed, much the same way he did at her age.

 

He stepped into the master bedroom. His wife slept on her left side in their Queen-sized bed, curled under the covers. He stealthily made his way across the room and peered into the crib where Madison slept on her back with a dreamy grin, her tiny legs kicking softly.

 

He levered out of his sneakers, slipped off his jeans and slid under the covers. He slipped a muscular arm around his wife and kissed her neck.

 

“You'd better leave,” Christine mumbled. “My husband will be home soon.”

 

“Ha. Ha,” he whispered.

 

She rolled over and softly kissed his lips.

 

“Morning, baby,” she smiled. “How was work?”

 

He propped his head against his fist.

 

“Busy. Nothing we couldn't handle. How were things here?”

 

“For once, uneventful.”

 

The baby began to cry. Marcus dropped his head.

 

“It's your turn,” Christine smirked.

 

“Yep,” he sighed, rolling out of bed. “I know.”

 

XXXXXX

 

Tim whistled to himself as he strolled up the front walkway of Brittany's apartment complex.

 

He danced up the stairs, unlocked the door and slipped inside.

 

“Hey, Sunshine!” he sang. “Your favorite fiance` is...”

 

He noticed a black pair of men's Wingtips in the middle of the living room floor.

 

“Brit?” he called, heading towards the bedroom.

 

“Uh...hang on, Timmy!” Brittany called from the bedroom. “I'll be out in a...”

 

He pushed open the door to see his fiancee` standing beside the bed in a man's T-shirt, one that wasn't his. On the opposite side stood the man he knew was her boss, wearing nothing but a pair of silk boxer shorts.

 

Tim couldn't speak. He hoped to God that he was just having a bad dream, but he knew what he was seeing. He stared at Brittany. She looked away.

 

“Hey...look...Tim...” the other man began to speak.

 

Tim held his gaze on Brittany.

 

“Shut it, Roger.”

 

Brittany's voice wavered. She ran a hand through her messy blonde hair.

 

“Timmy...” her voice was barely above a whisper. “I'm sorry. Baby...I'm sorry.”

 

Tim felt warm tears roll down his cheeks. He felt like vomiting. He felt like screaming. Instead, he turned and marched towards the door.

 

“Tim!” she called after him. “Come back! I'm sorry! Please! I'm sorry!”

 

He threw open the front door and quickly descended the steps. He hit the sidewalk and turned on his heel, not even sure where he was going.

 

Brittany stood on the porch.

 

“Tim! Please!”

 

He didn't look back.

 

XXXXXX

 

Gina sat on the couch in sweats and a blue fire department T-shirt, eating cereal and watching cartoons.

 

Her sister Valerie wandered out of the bedroom and yawned.

 

“Hey, when did you get home?”

 

Gina inhaled a spoonful of Cap'n Crunch.

 

“About fifteen minutes ago. I put the coffee on.”

 

Valerie poured herself a mug, then sat down in the big recliner adjacent to the couch.

 

“How was work?”

 

“Okay. Pretty busy, actually.”

 

Valerie eyed her as she sipped her coffee.

 

“So how's everybody at the new station?”

 

Gina shrugged and ate another spoonful of cereal.

 

“Okay, I guess.”

 

“Anybody stand out? Are they nice guys? They treat you okay?”

 

Gina placed the bowl on the coffee table and wiped her mouth with a napkin.

She stared at her sister.

 

“Everything was fine.”

 

Valerie leaned back in the old recliner and stared back at her.

 

“You know what the therapist said. Shutting yourself off from the people you work with isn't healthy. Especially in the job that you do.”

 

“I know.”

 

“I'm just looking out for you, G.”

 

“I know!” Gina snapped as she stood. She clasped her hands behind her head and stared at the carpet for a minute. “I know. I'm sorry. I know. I'm just...I have to deal with this in my own way, okay? Will you let me do that?”

 

Her sister nodded as she stared up at her.

 

“Okay. Fine.”

 

“I'm sorry, Val.” Gina leaned back against the couch. “I know you're just trying to help. I appreciate it.”

 

Her sister took a long sip of her coffee. She cleared her throat.

 

“So, just a busy shift, then? Anything interesting, or...?”

 

Gina shrugged and cracked a smile.

 

“I helped rescue somebody.”

 

Valerie leaned forward, mug clasped between her hands.

 

“Tell me!”

 

“No big deal, really. This car crashed into a taco joint. This girl got trapped underneath and I went under. Helped keep her calm until we could get her out.”

 

Valerie smiled and held up her open palm. Gina laughed and slapped it.

 

“That's my sister!” Valerie sang. “My sister, the badass firefighter!”

 

Gina folded her arms and grinned.

 

“Hell yeah, I am.”

 

XXXXXX

 

Casey and the others stepped out of the diner that stood a few feet to the west of Station 31's property line.

 

“You weren't kidding about those pancakes,” Casey yawned and patted his stomach.

 

“Best in the battalion,” Shep said, picking his teeth with a toothpick.

 

“So, what do you think, Cap?” asked Mike. “Think you might stick around a while?”

 

Casey shrugged. He slid his hands into his pockets as they ambled down the sidewalk.

 

“Well, the weather's nice, easy access to pancakes...”

 

An air horn suddenly split the air.

 

Truck 31 rolled out of the station and turned right, siren growling up to pitch. The engine and ambulance followed. The four firefighters watched as the rigs rounded the corner and disappeared, their sirens fading in the distance.

 

“He's not goin' anywhere,” Shep nudged Casey as he passed. “He's one of us now.”  
  


Mike slapped Casey's shoulder, stepping past him.

 

“Welcome to L.A., Cap.”

 

Oscar and Ben both shook his hand before walking towards the station.

 

Casey squinted up at the warm sun and clear blue sky. He slipped on his sunglasses and sighed.

 

“Guess I'm staying,” he smiled to himself, before jogging to catch up with the others. _**  
**_

_ **END** _

 

_This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to actual persons, places or incidents is purely coincidental. All firefighting and medical information may not be accurate_ _._

 

**Author's Note:**

> L.A. Fire Episode 1  
> Author's Notes and Glossary
> 
>  
> 
> This is a fictional portrayal of the Los Angeles Fire Department and is not meant to reflect any of the department's real life procedures, tactics, or protocols.
> 
> Glossary
> 
> Engine Company: The most common piece of fire equipment, also known as a pumper. Equipped with a water tank, pump and hose lines. It's main duty is fire suppression (“putting the wet stuff on the red stuff”).
> 
> Task Force: 2 engine companies and 1 truck company that usually respond as one team. The first engine can respond independently of the other two units. The second engine and the truck company always respond together as one unit and are known as a “Light force”. 
> 
> Truck Company: A truck mounted with a telescoping aerial ladder. Typically carries no hose or water, but it does carry a large assortment of ground ladders, tools and rescue equipment. Its main duties at a fire scene are search & rescue, ventilation (chopping holes in the roof allowing gas and heat to escape) and overhaul (tearing apart the building to look for fire).
> 
> Rescue Ambulance (“RA” or “Rescue”): An advanced life support ambulance with a crew of two firefighter/paramedics.
> 
> Run: An emergency call or any call for service. (dating back to the days when fire engines were drawn by horses)
> 
> Pre-fire: Pre-fire plan/inspection. Firefighters will typically inspect certain buildings in their district, helping them to better formulate a fire attack plan, should a fire ever break out in that building.
> 
> I.C.: Incident Command/Incident Commander.
> 
> Flash: Short for “flashover”, the point at which all of the contents in a burning room ignite. 
> 
> Engineer: The firefighter responsible for driving and maintaining the pumper, as well as operating the pump panel.
> 
> Apparatus Operator: The firefighter responsible for driving and maintaining the ladder truck, as well as operating the aerial ladder.
> 
> Tillerman: The firefighter who steers the rear wheels of a tractor-drawn aerial truck.
> 
> Lateral transfer: When a firefighter leaves one fire department to accept the same position at another. In reality, the LAFD does not accept lateral transfers.
> 
> Metro: Metropolitan Communications Center. The fire department's dispatch center.
> 
> On the radio: Term used to denote that the company/unit is not in quarters, but is monitoring radio communications.
> 
> E.T.O.H.: Ethyl Alcohol. Shorthand for intoxication used among paramedics and hospital staff.


End file.
